


Get Out Of The Kitchen

by sallyamongpoison



Series: Menu du Jour [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, cooking at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: In which Dorian goes over to Cullen's for their first date.





	Get Out Of The Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "If You can't Stand The Heat..."

_ So Tuesday. How do you feel about dinner? _

_ I feel pretty good about dinner. Where would we be going? _

_ I’ll text you the address.  _   
  


_ Google tells me that’s an apartment building, Cullen. _

_ It would be right. _

_ And would this be -your- apartment building? _

_ It would. _

_ Will you be cooking this dinner we’ll be having? _

_ Nope. WE will. _   
  


In the last two weeks Dorian had been pleasantly surprised with the amount of time he and Cullen spent texting back and forth. Neither of them, it seemed, were much for on the phone chatting so it gave them a chance to talk when they had time to spare. Cullen worked long hours, which Dorian expected, and tended to be quiet when he was on the clock. In some ways that worried him. Cullen had said he was a firefighter, and Dorian often took his silence to mean that maybe he was off being heroic and saving lives. When he did text at work, it was a bit slow and often at weird times...but Dorian didn’t mind that. It meant Cullen was there and safe.

Maker, he’d only just met the man and he was worried a bit for his safety. Every time he heard a siren in the distance he felt his heart sink a little. Was that Cullen? Was he going off to some potentially dangerous situation? It was an uncomfortable feeling. It was a feeling that Dorian had never encountered with anyone he’d known before.

But they had a day set. For a date. A real, not-on-accident kind of date. One that included going over to Cullen’s apartment and apparently cooking dinner. Well, at least they were consistent. And, really, it was fun to have a sort of ‘thing’ that they did. That never happened before either. They now had something somewhat in common, something to do that wasn’t just meeting for drinks and small talk. They would cook. They  _ had _ cooked, and Dorian had taken three days to finish off that tart Cullen had let him go home with. It had been a nice reminder of that day. So this was maybe the next level of that first meeting where instead of cooking in a class they were cooking at home. Together.

Hadn’t that been his stupid little fantasy, too? All cozied up with someone and sharing the responsibility and work it took to make a nice meal at home? Hadn’t he imagined standing shoulder to shoulder while they made something amazing together? It was awfully domestic. A true fantasy where in real life Dorian had never had cause to dream of something like that. No one he knew did things like that. Not one. Even he, king of the ordered takeout that showed up just as he arrived home in the evenings, did things like that. The class had been out of his comfort zone, and now so was this date. A bit. But, hopefully, in a good way.

So he brought wine. That was what you brought to things like this, wasn’t it? Dorian had gone to enough dinner parties to know you always brought something, and since Cullen had been mum on the topic of what exactly they were making he settled for a bottle of red and a bottle of white. Just in case. Or not, since they were both the kind he liked best he had no problem drinking either...or both.

It was a bit of a weird situation, though. This was a date, and he knew that, but it was also cooking a meal in someone’s house. Were they going out he might have had a frame of reference for what to wear, but since this was a Cullen’ Dorian had no real idea how casual or not to be. He’d spent an embarrassingly long amount of time staring into his closet about it, too. So many clothes for so many occasions, and he was stuck on what to wear to a man’s house. Were this anyone else he might have said anything that would be easy to remove later, but...okay, so maybe he could go with that but maybe class it up just a little. After all, it never hurt to plan for any outcome, right? 

Now, wine in hand, Dorian stared up at the tall building at the address Cullen had given him. It was certainly...an apartment building. Actually, it wasn’t too far away from his own. It had only taken about ten minutes to get there, and Dorian had to wonder if at any point before that class the other week he and Cullen had just passed each other by and never noticed.  There was something equally thrilling and sad about that kind of thought. All this time there had been this kind, handsome man around him and he’d never noticed because...what? He was too consumed by work and his own social expectations? All that time wasted on men who wanted to just boast and fuck, and there was Cullen with his kind eyes and warm hands just living a few blocks away. But Dorian was there now, and it wouldn’t do to concern himself by thinking about what he could have been missing out on then.

A quick check to his phone, and Dorian made his way up the couple of steps so he could look at the list of resident labelled on the side. There, near the middle on the fourth floor was  _ C. Rutherford (402) _ . And there it was. Dorian shifted the bottles he held, then reached up to press the button for a moment before he leaned back and waited. Something inside him fluttered, and he was moderately horrified to realize he was  _ nervous _ . Not...not about the cooking. Cullen would invariably take the lead with that, but more the fact that he was at Cullen’s house and there wasn’t the already understood reason as to why he was there. They would have to talk. They would have to get to know one another. And...well, that was where the nerves came in. 

Yes, they’d texted back and forth over the last few weeks about everything from the weather to strange dreams. Yes, they’d spent a bit of time over another meal talking about Iron Chef style cooking competitions and Dorian’s complicated relationship with Rilienus, but they’d never spent any real time together. They would tonight. And for just a moment Dorian was worried. Would Cullen  _ like _ him? Cullen had invited him to his home, so Dorian had to assume he did or at least thought he did, but they would be in private now. Dorian had never been much of one to  _ do _ chat like that. He could make small talk, he could flirt, he could feign interest in whatever hobby the object of his interest had. But he’d never had much cause to delve deeper than that. There wasn’t really time for it, since usually right around the time the meaningful words started the clothes began to come off. 

“Dorian?” a voice asked, which shook him from his thoughts. Cullen’s voice. Cullen’s voice coming from the little speaker. “Are you there?”

“Yes?” he answered, “Uh...downstairs. I brought wine.”

“Excellent. Come on up.” 

With that, another buzzer sounded, and the door in front of him popped open just a bit. Dorian chuckled to himself, reached out, and let himself into the building. This was it. This was actually happening. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined what this whole night might look like, or any night where they did something together, but taking the elevator up with arms full of wine wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured. As he rode, Dorian tried to fix his hair as best he could in slightly distorted metal of the doors. It was fine, and he knew it, but he fussed anyway. That was the nerves. He also swept his fingers over his mustache, twisted the ends up just a bit more, and took a deep breath.

 

“Just dinner,” Dorian said softly to himself as the elevator slowed at the fourth floor, “just...cook and eat.” 

The stride he took to Cullen’s door said confidence. Dorian knew all too well how to look put together when his insides were shaking a little, and he relaxed his face into what he hoped was a look of easy nonchalance. This was supposed to be fun, he reminded himself, and he refused to let those little butterflies that were inching up from his stomach to his chest get to him. He came to a stop in front of the door that said 402, and took another breathe before he raised a hand to knock three times.

There. That was...confident, right? Easy? Not too many and not too few. Just the right amount.

Oh, Maker help him, he was analyzing the amount of knocks. Clearly he might need some of that wine if only to get him out of his head a bit. 

The door opened a moment later, and there stood Cullen. There stood Cullen looking very cozy in a maroon henley that looked incredibly soft. There stood Cullen with his hair curling around his face like a halo of golden light. There stood Cullen with a smile on his face that looked like half amusement and half...what was even the other part of that look? Expectation? No, not that. More...excitement. Happiness, daresay. Cullen looked  _ happy _ that Dorian was standing outside his door.

“You found your way up, eh?” Cullen asked. There was a chuckle in his tone that matched the little smile he wore on scarred lips.

He opened his mouth to say something, but found that his throat was just a little dry. “I...yeah, yeah I did,” Dorian managed after a moment, “nice, um, elevator you have there.”

Just what in the Maker’s name was  _ wrong _ with him? He’d never stumbled over words like this with anyone else before. He’d never felt butterflies in his gut either. What was going on? It was like one look from those amber eyes completely disarmed every trick Dorian Pavus had up his sleeve. And he was looking not unlike some besotted fool.

One of Cullen’s eyebrows cocked as he moved to the side to let Dorian in, “It certainly goes up and down, doesn’t it?” he teased, and once they were inside and the door was shut Cullen held out a hand for one of the wine bottles, “care to share the load?”

The wine was currently the only thing Dorian had to keep his hands busy. He’d never been one to not know what to do with hem, but once he’d handed off one of the bottles he found that putting it in his pocket seemed weird and just letting him arm hang felt awkward. This was maddening. He hated feeling so off center just because the way the edges of Cullen’s eyes wrinkled a bit when he smiled and he just looked so damned sincere. It completely knocked him off balance. Dorian had never met a man like him before.

“I didn’t know what we were having, so I just went with what felt right,” Dorian explained. Cullen was studying the label of the Malbec Dorian had brought, and smiled. Yet again, Dorian felt his heart race when those eyes cut back up just a little to meet his own.

“Not bad,” he answered, “I think this should do pretty well.”

“So what  _ are _ we having, then?”

Cullen just smiled and nodded toward the kitchen. In that moment Dorian realized he hadn’t even looked around at the apartment, and he was genuinely surprised at just how cozy it looked. His own minimalist flat with sleek lines and few pieces seemed all but austere by comparison to the overstuffed couch, soft looking chairs, and tables and bookshelves lined with not only books but plants and pictures as well. It felt like a home. Like a place someone would want to come back to and actually  _ live _ in after a long day. His own place, while tasteful, was more of a landing pad between work and whatever social calendar he kept.

The kitchen, much like the living area, seemed cozy and full of life. Maybe a tad cluttered for all the things covering most of the counter space: toaster, slow cooker, electric kettle, coffee pot, etc but in the same way it seemed as though everything got used. Even the fridge was covered in all manner of things from a whiteboard with a grocery list to takeout menus to what looked to be a veritable gallery of crudely drawn artwork made by what had to be very tiny hands.

“Draw these yourself, did you?” Dorian asked as he set the bottle of Chardonnay he’d been holding down on the counter.

From his left, Cullen snorted just a little then turned to gesture at the fridge, “I mean if I can’t put them on my  _ own _ fridge then where else can they go?” he teased back, then shook his head, “my sister and brother’s kids. They love to do art projects when they’re over here.”

Dorian whistled a little, “A brother and a sister?” he asked, “three whole Rutherfords?”

“Four. Two sisters and a brother.”

Maker, that sounded exhausting just imagining that. Though Dorian’s mind supplied him with the image of four golden haired mop tops running around in a kitchen, and he had to smile a little. Their poor mother, though. Aquinea always complained that Dorian was more than enough on his own, so he could only imagine what having more would have been like. 

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Cullen asked as he opened a drawer to fish out a corkscrew.

He snickered at that, “Ah, no,” Dorian answered, “I was apparently more than enough.”

“Troublemaker, were you?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

Cullen considered that for a moment before he jutted his chin toward the fridge, “why don’t you put the other bottle in there?” he offered, “I’ll get us some glasses of this served up and we can maybe start on the main event?”

“Which I  _ still _ don’t know what it is, by the way.” 

It seemed Cullen was still keen to keep it a surprise because he said nothing while he opened the wine and poured out a glass for each of them. Dorian just watched- how Cullen moved, the way his face looked as he poured the wine, how easy and comfortable he seemed. Dorian wished he could match it. His kind of grace was never steeped in comfort though. Coyness and flirting? Sure. But this genuine comfort and confidence of being just seemed to radiate from Cullen. The man knew what he was about, and even from the last time they’d been around each other Dorian realized that Cullen seemed to make no apologies for it.

One of the glasses was slid gently over to him, and Cullen picked up his own before he held it out a little, “to a good meal. Hopefully the first of many.”

Curious. Dorian picked up the glass, held it in his hand for a moment before he lifted it to gently  _ clink _ it against Cullen’s, “and to a wonderful...uh…” Words failed him a little. Friendship? Something more? The heat that rolled off them both during that cooking class didn’t say friendship to him. The way Cullen looked at him and spoke to him with a warmth that Dorian had never known didn’t either. And yet he didn’t want to assume.

“Journey,” Cullen offered, “wherever this goes. Right?”

“To wherever this goes.”

And with that, he took a drink. The blackberry burn tasted good, and at the end Dorian picked up the taste of oak and something almost like how his favorite leather jacket smelled. It was rich and heady, and he loved it. Maybe now he would be properly fortified to deal with now possibly having to handle sharp objects and fire around Cullen.

They were both quiet for a moment after that. Dorian, for his part, was savoring the taste of the wine while he studied Cullen’s face. Cullen, though, seemed a bit lost in thought as he stared into the middle distance, then snapped to and turned to look at Dorian again. He smiled, moved toward the fridge, and opened the door so he could reach in and start rifling around in there. Dorian didn’t mind the view. Cullen half bent over was a nice sight, and Dorian’s eyes wandered down the long plane of his back to the rather nice rear end that stuck out as he searched for whatever it was he was looking for. What Cullen looked like under those comfy clothes was a mystery, but Dorian had seen enough naughty calendars featuring firemen to let his imagination run wild.

Cullen hummed for a moment, then poked his head back out, “I think for the side we should change it up just a little bit,” he offered, “instead of roasted, how do you feel about fully loaded mashed potatoes? With, you know, bacon and cheese and sour cream and chives?”

“I think I’ll be going to the gym for an hour for the next week and a half,” Dorian teased, but he nodded, “but that sounds amazing. And I can most certainly peel potatoes. In fact, I’m  _ basically _ an expert in it.”

“Expert, huh?” Cullen asked, “good to know I’m in such esteemed company, here.”

And then, Dorian assumed, came the Main Event. Or, at least, the Main Dish. Cullen pulled out two containers that were full of  _ something, _ and he set them down on the counter. Dorian was curious, made no pains to hide it, and he inched closer as Cullen pulled off the tops to reveal two very fine looking steaks. 

“Oh,  _ yes _ ,” Dorian all but purred, “a wonderful surprise indeed.”

“Two beautiful, aged, ten ounce ribeyes,” Cullen announced, “bone  _ in _ , if you please.”

Dorian barely managed to stifle a snort at that, and he covered his mouth with one hand before he looked up at Cullen as innocently as he could manage. So not innocent at all, really. “Are you coming onto me, Mr. Hero?” he asked, “because that sounds a lot like dirty talk.”

“Just wait til you get it in your mouth,” Cullen went on, then winked, “when the moaning starts I’ll know it’s perfect.”

And oh, how Dorian so very much wanted to know the reality of that.

There was a beat where both of them were quiet again, and Dorian realized just how close they were standing. Back at the cooking class they’d been like this too. Cullen had stepped into Dorian’s space, and neither of them had made any moves to change that. This was a lot like that moment. It was intimate in its own way what with the staring down at two very nice cuts of meat and practically drooling over them. In any case, it was certainly not at all what Dorian had expected.

“So...steak and these fully loaded mashed potatoes, and...what, exactly?’ Dorian asked before he picked up his wine glass to take another sip. He was trying to drown that fluttery feeling in his stomach, though he didn’t exactly what to get too tipsy. This was going to be a good meal, and being drunk halfway through it would have been both mortifying and unfortunate. He was still far more nervous than he was on any other date he’d been on, and even that little toast did things to the inside of his chest and stomach that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Cullen smiled, “Thinking...asparagus?” he asked, “might as well go for the house expensive steak house vibe, eh?” He picked his wine glass up again as well, and held it to his lips. Cullen was smiling over the rim, then took a sip, “I figure those steaks won’t take too long, but since you’re the expert on the potatoes I figure I’ll start them once you have those going.”

Shop talk, then. Maybe that would ease that feeling in his chest. Though...that toast. That said a lot more about maybe what tonight was than anything else. They’d flirted over text, obviously flirted a bit in person now, but that toast had something else to it that wasn’t just a coy comment or the odd smirk here and there. It had potential. A ‘journey’ Cullen had called it. None of the relationships, if you could even call them as much, that Dorian had ever been in could be called a ‘journey.’ To him, ‘journey’ meant that there was the possibility that they were going to be doing something together. Or that this was the start of something together, anyway.

“Let’s get started, then,” Dorian said, “I didn’t eat anything today so I could be ready for tonight.”

A look of shock, then concern, filled Cullen’s face. He reached out a hand, rested it on Dorian’s arm, then cocked his head to the side, “Are you hungry? I can...I don’t know, I might have some cheese and crackers around if you want something to nibble on.”

Bless him. “Dinner parties aren’t your thing, I take it?” Dorian asked before he patted Cullen’s hand, “because I could show you how to throw an amazing one, if you were really interested.”

“You may need to,” Cullen admitted, then let out a breathy laugh. He still hadn’t moved his hand from Dorian’s arm, though he did set down his wine glass to rub at the back of his neck. That seemed to be something that happened when he was nervous. “I don’t, uh, have too many people over,” he went on, “inner sanctum and that kind of thing. The only people who really come over are family, and they just go hunting through the fridge and the cabinets when they come in.”

Dorian smirked, “So what you’re saying is the next time I come over I can just start rifling through your pantry?” he asked. He traced his fingers over the back of Cullen’s hand, followed both the peaks and valleys of his knuckles, the veins that stood out from under pale skin, and then along those thick fingers. Maker, but he had nice hands.

After a moment, Cullen flipped that hand over so their fingers could lace together. His palm was warm,and his grip was obviously strong but gentle. Not a vice. Just...comforting. Dorian felt that warmth radiate up from his hand to his arm and all through him, and he squeezed gently before Cullen looked back up so their eyes could meet. “Saying you want to come over again?” he asked.

“I’m saying that you’re feeding me, so yes. Obviously. I’m like a stray cat that way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stayed like that for another beat. It was just long enough for Cullen to stroke his thumb along the outside of Dorian’s before he let go so he could start pulling out the rest of what they’d need to make dinner. Dorian moved to wash his hands, though as he passed Cullen on the way to the sink he rested a hand on the other man’s back. They’d touched now, truly, and Dorian was missing that warmth. There was something about Cullen, perhaps the fact that he was Fereldan, that made his skin just feel so nice. 

As they washed vegetables, pulled out cutting boards and knives, and settled in at the counter there was a nice sort of companionable silence. They’d worked that way at the class too. Dorian didn’t feel the need to fill the air with constant chatter just because it was quiet, and he rather liked how easily they seemed to move around each other. Cullen knew his kitchen well, but at no point did Dorian feel like he was in the way at all. They just...moved. And then they were shoulder to shoulder peeling potatoes and cutting the ends off of asparagus respectively. This was exactly like that fantasy Dorian had the last time they did this. To be living it seemed almost like a dream, and were he not covered in raw potato he might have pinched himself just to make sure.

“So any more Iron Chef competitions at work?” Dorian asked as he peeled his third potato, “or...other things going on?”

Culled shrugged, “The usual,” he answered, “what about you. At your...job. That I know what it is. That you’ve told me about. Right?”

A smile. “Yes, my job in the Archives at the research library. On campus,” Dorian agreed, “that you totally remembered is what I do.”

“Exactly! I...didn’t forget. How is all that, er, archiving? Lots of pages and things, eh?”

And here they were joking like they’d known each other forever. Not that Dorian spent a lot of time talking about work with his other, er,  _ interests _ , but he might have been put off if he had mentioned it and they’d forgotten. With Cullen it was just more fun to laugh and poke fun at it. And himself, just a little.

“Oh, it’s backbreaking,” Dorian answered, “by which I mean I stay hunched over a keyboard a lot of the time transcribing old books and articles. I’m sure my spine has a bit of a curve to it these days.”

“But you enjoy it?” Cullen asked as he went to grab a mitt to take out a cast iron skillet from the oven, of all place,s and set it on a burner. “It’s very academic.”

He set that now peeled potato down and picked up another, “Academics is about all I’m good for, I’m afraid. Rather, it’s all I have any passion for. History, literature, art...that was all I really ever wanted to study. So getting to have a hand in pretty much all three is as close to any dream I’ve ever had.”

The sound of the burner clicking on sounded from Dorian’s left, and he turned to see Cullen standing over the stove. He was focused on it for a moment, eyes down on the skillet, then he turned back to Dorian, “That’s got to get  _ really _ fucking hot, so just be careful for me,” he warned, then made his way back to the counter. “So what was your dream? Since what you’re doing is close to it, but not quite it.”

Dorian snorted, “Well, when I was seven I wanted to be an ice skater. Then an artist. Then for about half a year a marine biologist, because everyone wants to be one at one point. Then when I was a teenager I was convinced I was going to be an author. The list goes on.” He’d wanted to be so many things when he was younger, but this? What he was doing? That felt more like something he could succeed at and feel like he was doing something for generations after him.

That was oddly satisfying for him.

“That’s a lot of dreams,” Cullen commented as he picked up his wine glass for another sip, “you, uh...you’ve got me beat there.”

“And what was your dream?” Dorian asked as he finished the last of the potatoes and moved to rinse them off under the faucet, “driving a fire truck? Please tell me there’s pictures of you in the red hat when you were little.”

Cullen chuckled and shook his head, “No, nothing like that. I mean, maybe once when I was really young, but uh, I wanted to join the military. I signed up with the Templars right out of high school.”

Oh. Oh shit. Dorian blinked. Cullen didn’t so much have the air of a military man. He’d always associated those types with stoicism, bluntness, and not at all the gentle way that Cullen had about him. Or perhaps Dorian just didn’t know him well enough yet, but he was an  _ excellent _ judge of character. Or, at least, he thought he was.

“How long did you serve?” he asked as he shook the water off the potatoes and brought them back to the counter so he could start cutting them up. He did rather hate the feeling of cold, raw potatoes. They’d always grossed him out a bit. That and raw chicken. Something about cold and slimy things in hand just made his skin crawl a little. So he made short work of chopping them up before he set them aside and went hunting for a pot.

Cullen seemed keen to just watch him, quiet for a moment after Dorian asked, then he sighed. It was a heavy sound. Dorian didn’t know much about the Templars in the South. In Minrathous there were mostly relegated to security detail for Magisterium sessions and bodyguards for the Archon and Divine. Here, though, he’d heard, they served a much more active purpose. Cullen’s gaze settled somewhere in the middle distance, and Dorian could all but hear the cogs in his mind turning together. He tipped his head to the side, leaned back against the counter, and rested a hand on Cullen’s arm.

“I didn’t mean to stump you,” he teased, “you don’t have to answer-”

“Ten years,” Cullen said finally, “Six here in Ferelden and then four in Kirkwall.”

Oh. Well. Dorian’s nose wrinkled a little. He’d stayed in Kirkwall for a short time while he’d been planning what to do with himself. It was, and always had been, a bit of a shithole. Like Minrathous it had the air of an ancient city with its chains and statues and whatever else, but it had always seemed oppressive. Unsettling, even. The place always felt like the bottom was about to fall out at any time.

“But now you’re here?” Dorian offered, “and...not serving anymore?”

Cullen nodded. He watched as Dorian swept the potatoes into a pot and went to fill it with cold water. “Honorable Discharge,” he went on, “I, uh...there was a riot. I was in one of the first responders squadrons, and ended up getting fired on.”

That was...entirely far more information on anyone than Dorian had ever gotten on a first date. Normally that was reserved for having known someone for years, if ever, and there was Cullen telling him like he had every reason in the world to know. No one else that Dorian knew divulged things like that. It was all small talk and flirting. Half the time there was no talk at all, since Dorian had always kept a rule about no deep and meaningfuls in bed. Or out of bed. And yet.

“Ah,” was all he could manage.

There were a few longer beats of silence then. And it wasn’t the companionable and nice kind. It was more awkward than things had been since they’d first talked at the cooking class, and Dorian didn’t know what to do with that. Any sympathy he could offer would sound hollow because he genuinely had no idea what that was like. And there was no way he could empathize, not really, and not sound like an idiot.

“Sorry,” Cullen said after a minute, “I need to learn to read the room a little better.” He pushed off the counter, joined Dorian over by the stove, and watched as he flicked on the burner, set down the pot, and covered it. There. Potatoes on. 

Dorian shook his head, “Don’t apologize. It’s not like it’s something stupid. It’s...it’s your  _ life _ …” Even he was surprised by the words leaving his mouth. They were sincere. They were more sincere and genuine than he thought he was capable of. Something about how Cullen spoke, how he corrected himself, struck Dorian deep down in his chest. It wasn’t just a word or two to keep Cullen from talking or placate him into feeling better. He meant it. That was honestly surprising.

“Still. I just don’t normally let it  _ out _ like that.”

“No?” Dorian asked.

Cullen shook his head and went to grab the steaks so he could set them next to the stove. That pan had to be rocket hot by now, and Cullen eyed it for a moment before he turned back to Dorian. “I don’t know,” he sighed, “maybe, uh, there’s something about you. Makes me want to tell you all my secrets.”

He snickered, “I’ve been told I have a very honest face by a lot of not very honest men.”

“Honest or not, they’re not wrong,” Cullen told him, then nodded to the pan, “maybe take a step back. The last thing we need is for both of us to possibly lose our eyebrows.”

Dorian watched as Cullen tossed both steaks in the pan, and jumped a bit at the hiss and sizzle that accompanied it. That pan really had been hot, and Cullen smiled just a bit before he inched the sleeve of his shirt up so he could look at his watch. “We’re going forty-five minutes a side since there’s two of them,” he told Dorian, then smiled, “trust me. This is going to be amazing.”

Immediately the kitchen filled with the amazing scent of seared beef. Dorian had already been hungry, and he felt his stomach rumble just a bit as he watched Cullen flip the steaks. The man was living by the seconds on his watch, and after they’d gone another round he tossed the whole skillet back into the oven.

From there it was a bit of whirlwind activity. Potatoes to mash, asparagus to quickly toss in a pan with butter and garlic, and a steak to rest. The whole kitchen smelled like heaven, and even in the chaos that was bringing the meal together they worked around each other like they’d been doing it for years. Dorian felt so comfortable with Cullen. It really was, truly, like a fantasy made real. Cullen himself was like a fantasy made real.

By the time everything was done and served up, Dorian rather felt like they’d well and truly accomplished something awesome. The plates looked great, it very much  _ smelled _ like a steakhouse, and they had glasses of wine to enjoy along with the meal. Nothing was burned. No harm had come to either of them. Probably the most surprising thing, though, was that there hadn’t been any snapping or testing of nerves. They’d just gone in and  _ cooked _ together like they did it every day of their lives. It was, essentially, everything Dorian never let himself hope for.

They settled in together at Cullen’s dining table. This time they weren’t across from each other, but instead sitting beside. Dorian smiled when he felt Cullen’s knee knock against his own, which he knew now wasn’t at all an accident, and he reached out to rest a hand on the other man’s knee. “This is amazing,” he told Cullen, “you were right.”

“Well, we still have to dig in,” Cullen pointed out, “so maybe hold the congratulations until you’ve tasted it.”

Dorian waggled his eyebrows a bit at that, and pointedly moved to cut into his steak. It was perfectly medium rare, juicy, and cut like butter. Maker help him, but he hadn’t been this excited for a meal in a long time. He lifted the piece to his lips, and cast a glance to his right to see Cullen watching him. Dorian chuckled, then took the bite.

“Fuck me,” Dorian groaned, and set his fork down. It was, truly, probably one of the best steaks he’d ever had. Not just from a restaurant, but in general. Ever. In his life. He groaned again, shook his head, and pointed down to his plate as he chewed, “Cullen, this is perfect. Absolutely.”

Cullen was grinning. That smile had started small and spread across his features until he looked like a perfect ray of sunshine sitting there. There was a look of pride, too, and Cullen lifted a hand to rub at the back of neck. He was blushing a bit too, and searched Dorian’s face for a long moment. “You really like it?” he asked.

“I do,” Dorian said, and picked up his wine to take a sip, “oh, go on and try it. Because if you don’t then I’m going to need to take this plate and go have a moment alone.”

Grey eyes watched as Cullen cut into the steak, speared a bite, and Cullen studied it for a moment before he popped it in his mouth. He couldn’t help but smile as Cullen groaned as well, and he sat back in his chair for a moment. So long as the cook thought it was good too. This was a good sign. After a bit, Cullen opened his eyes, met Dorian’s gaze, and they both started to laugh. It was a good laugh- open and hearty, and before too long they were just laughing and eating and congratulating each other over and over again over a job well done.

A while later, once plates had been cleared and the other bottle of wine had been opened, saw both Cullen and Dorian relaxing out on Cullen’s balcony. It was brisk outside, for sure, but the wind had died down so it was nice to be out of the hot kitchen and in the cool air. Cullen sat in one of the two chairs while Dorian leaned against the railing with his wine glass in hand. He’d always liked to look out at the city at night. It was oddly comforting.

“So tell me again how that was the best meal you’ve ever had,” Cullen prompted, and Dorian smiled as he heard Cullen laugh.

He turned, tipped his head to the side, and rolled his eyes playfully, “It was the best meal I’ve ever had the privilege to put in my face. Thank you, Cullen, for this nigh on religious experience.”

Another grin, and Cullen lifted his glass toward Dorian, “Well, I did promise. Right?”

“Did you? You said it would be amazing.”

“I said I would make you moan, remember?”

He’d been in the middle of a sip for that, like before, and Dorian choked a little. There was still something jarring, though rather sexy, about hearing something like that come from Cullen’s lips. Dorian blinked a couple of times, shook his head to clear his mind, and licked his lips, “You did say that.”

“And I made good on it.”

“Yes, yes you did. Though you did a bit of moaning yourself, too.”

Cullen studied him for a moment, then hauled himself out of the chair. The only reason Dorian knew that it was ‘hauling’ was because getting out of the chairs after dinner had been a labor unto itself. A good dinner plus wine always made it hard to be mobile. But Cullen made his way over, leaned on the balcony beside Dorian, and sighed. “So...this was good, then?” he asked, “the coming over and cooking?”

“It was good,” Dorian agreed. He took another drink from his wine and let himself lean just a little bit closer to Cullen. “Very good. And not just the food. The company’s also been exceptional.”

“Glad you think so,” Cullen said, “I was kind of worried about doing something like this for a, well, a first date.”

Dorian’s eyes widened in faux shock, and he gasped as he put a hand over his heart. “A date? Is that what this is?” he asked, “All this time I thought you just wanted to pamper me with a home cooked meal.” The nerves he’d felt before had melted with the food and wine, and he felt more at ease with such a joke. He did, however, make his face a bit more serious before he smiled, “but you had the right of it. This might be the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

They were looking at each other. The lights from the streetlamps below mixed with what leaked out from Cullen’s apartment made those amber eyes look even warmer than usual. Dorian felt his stomach flip, and he gripped his wine glass a little tighter. They were sharing space. Like this, they were so close that even in the brisk night air Dorian could feel how warm Cullen was. Like before he didn’t want to move away from it.

“I was really hoping you’d say that,” Cullen said. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and he reached out a hand to rest it on Dorian’s lower back. 

That hand was warm, and it warmed Dorian through. For a moment he didn’t feel the cold air. It was just he and Cullen in the whole world and nothing else mattered. He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling for a second, and moved so he was even more in Cullen’s space so the other man could loop his arm around Dorian’s waist. It was like his body moved of its own accord. There hadn’t been a time before this that Dorian let himself be swept up like that. No, he always kept his head. Now he moved closer, let Cullen pull him in, and soon they were chest to chest with Cullen’s arm resting on his hip.

“Have I told you that I’m glad my date canceled on me the other week,” Dorian mused. His own voice was as soft as Cullen’s had been. It was like a dream, but one he would kill to never wake from.

Cullen smiled, “He’s an idiot, you know,” and licked his lips as he leaned in a bit to bump his nose against Dorian’s. It was sweet, an obvious bid for a kiss, and Dorian closed his eyes as he just let that feeling wash over him. That Cullen would say such a thing with such sincerity, such warmth, was completely alien to Dorian. He didn’t want it to be. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was of having to play cold and coy. He wanted all those stupid fantasies to come true like the one tonight. He just...he wanted…

“Cullen,” Dorian whispered, and tipped his face up just enough so their lips could touch.

When he’d thought of this during the week Dorian had figured that their first kiss would be a whirlwind. He’d imagined lips and tongue and hands grabbing, passion and sighs, but...it wasn’t. It was gentle. Cullen’s lips were a whisper against his own, and Dorian lifted a hand to cup one scruffy cheek as one soft kiss bled into another into another. This wasn’t the hurricane he’d imagined, one that left him completely upside down in its wake, but instead like a gentle spring rain. That kiss was light and refreshing in a way that cleansed him from the inside out. His mind wasn’t gone. Instead it was focused solely on the feeling of Cullen up against him and those gentle kisses that Dorian felt from the top of his head down to the bottoms of his feet.

Their foreheads rested together when those kisses finally broke. Dorian trailed his fingers along Cullen’s cheek and down to his neck as he just breathed it all in. There was no world beyond the two of them. There was just warmth and the taste of Cullen on his lips. He opened his eyes to meet Cullen’s, and they shared a slightly shy smile together. Perhaps they’d both been a little lost in it, but neither seemed to want to find their way back.

“I’ve wanted,” a soft kiss was pressed against Dorian’s lips, “to do that,” and another, “since I met,” and another, “you.” Cullen kissed him again, still those same gentle kisses that made Dorian’s heart flutter, and Dorian sighed as he tangled his fingers in Cullen’s hair.

“Then, by all means, don’t-” Dorian began, but was cut off by the sound of a rather loud and important sounding alarm blaring from Cullen’s back pocket. “-stop.”

“Shit!” Cullen hissed, and took a step away so that he could grab for his phone and check it, “I...fuck, it’s work.” He looked back up to meet Dorian’s gaze, “I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that he had to go save lives? How could he apologize for that?

It was all a bit much for the moment. Dorian blinked a few times to get his head wrapped around what was happening before he shook his head, “Don’t be,” he said, and followed Cullen inside. He watched him grab his keys and a bag by the door, and they both walked out of Cullen’s apartment together. 

Once outside, down on the sidewalk in front of Cullen’s building, Dorian turned to Cullen. Already the man had his work face on, the one that matched the tone of the texts he got when Cullen was on the clock, and Dorian straightened up a bit before he reached out to touch Cullen’s arm. “Go be heroic, now,” he said, “just...let me know you’re okay. After. Please?”

Cullen nodded, “I will. Sorry again-”

“No,” Dorian held up a hand, “no apologies. I’ll talk to you later, okay? You do what you need to do.”

Again Cullen nodded. He took a couple of steps back, turned to go, sighed, and started walking. Dorian pulled out his phone, set to getting a car called to take him home, and licked his lips. What a way to end an evening, right? That had been such an amazing time, and those  _ kisses _ . Dorian’s insides melted just a little whenever he thought of them. His blood warmed, his face heated, and he couldn’t help but smile. Shame it had to end, of course, but at least that had been good-

“Dorian!” called a voice, and he turned to see Cullen practically sprinting back up to him.

“What? Cullen-” he began but was cut off as two arms wrapped around him and Dorian was given the most thorough kiss of his life. He sighed into it, tangled the hand not holding his phone in Cullen’s shirt, and was practically panting by the time Cullen pulled away.

“I’ll call you when I get home,” Cullen said, “I promise.” Another kiss, and Cullen was back on his way to sprinting back down the street toward the station.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


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